Free The Forsaken by Lisa M. Stasse Page A

bet,” Gadya snaps. “Get lost before I give you a pounding.”
    “Sounds hot. Is that an invitation?” But he turns to leave, smirking. “I gotta get back to doing something useful.”
    “That’s right, keep walking,” Gadya taunts.
    She and the freckled girl reach me as the boy retreats. Unexpectedly, the freckled girl steps forward and hugs me. “You’ve probably met enough new faces already—but I hope there’s room for one more? I’m Rika.”
    “Alenna.”
    She steps back. “You’re famous around here. The new arrival. But don’t worry. Your fame’s only gonna last until someone else new turns up. Then everyone will forget about you. That’s what happened to me!”
    “Good. I don’t want to be famous.”
    “We better get moving,” Gadya points out. “It’s almost time for the meeting.”
    I’m swept along in Gadya and Rika’s wake as they walk around to the other side of the fire pit. Despite their divergent appearances, I can tell that they’re good friends.
    The flames are now raging inside the pit like a living animal, fifteen feet high. I can feel the fire’s brutal warmth. The same two boys are still stoking it. The sky is growing darker; it’s now an ominous shade of purple-blue. Kids are streaming out of huts and from the forest, to congregate around the pit. The night is cooler, so some wear hoodies, and others have shawls and blankets around their shoulders. I notice several kids wearing shirts with defaced UNA logos on them.
    “How many people live in the village?” I ask as Gadya hands me a spare blanket.
    “We haven’t done a head count in months,” Rika says. “Kids keep turning up, but then there’s the Suffering, and the war with the Monk. . . . It all evens out, I guess. Maybe a couple hundred?” She looks at me. “I’m a pacifist, at least most of the time. So I’m a cook. That’s what I do here. How ’bout you?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “You got anything you’re passionate about?”
    “Music,” I tell her. “Playing guitar.”
    “We need more of that here,” Rika says, nodding her approval. Gadya just snorts.
    The three of us eventually perch on some granite rocks near the fire. The crowd isn’t exactly noisy, but it’s not quiet, either. In the flickering light I recognize the few kids I’ve already met, plus many more. I see Assassin Elite among a group of athletic, shirtless boys to my left. By their spears and primitive bows, I deduce that they’re the hunters and warriors who protect this village.
    Most of the kids sit on the ground, but some rest in ancient leather lounge chairs. The seats are cracked, with yellow stuffing poking out. I wonder how these chairs even came to be here. Or how anything else on the island got here. Like the giant stone staircase, these random items are out of place in this desolate wilderness. What did this island used to be?
    I finally see Veidman and Meira heading through the crowd toward the fire. Conversations slowly cease. Even in the pale firelight, they look so clean compared to everyone else here. Like dirt doesn’t stick to them. I feel mixed emotions. I’m still mad at Veidman for tricking me, but I guess I understand why he did it.
    Veidman stands up on a gnarled tree stump. Everyone’s quiet now, watching him. The only sounds are the crackling and popping of the fire. “Greetings,” he says, sounding oddly formal.
    “Greetings,” the group echoes back, like a church congregation. I wonder if this is some kind of strange village ritual.
    “As you know, we got a new arrival from the UNA today,” he continues, his gaze drifting in my direction.
    My stomach instantly clenches up.
    Please don’t mention my name!
    I want to remain anonymous, at least for a little while longer. But obviously that’s not going to happen. Everyone’s eyes are glued to me now.
    “Her name is Alenna Shawcross. Gadya found her near the eastern stairway, along with a boy that we couldn’t save. Alenna passed the